Cooper Vengeance

by Paula Graves

  “When Brenda and I first married, I was about to go on a two-year overseas stint. I figured she’d just stay here with her folks, since it was close to the Naval Station in Pensacola. But she insisted on moving to Gossamer Ridge. I had a house there already, but it wasn’t really habitable, since I was never there. She said she wanted something that was just ours. I just figured she wanted to start our married life even if it was without me for a little while.”

  “Now you’re not so sure?”

  “What if she was looking for an excuse to get out of Terrebonne? She didn’t visit here much—her parents visited up there most of the time. All the time, once the kids were born. Brenda wasn’t a selfish person, so I figured that’s just what they decided to do between them.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I assumed they liked getting away from the coast now and then. Gossamer Ridge is beautiful—it’s not a hardship to visit there.”

  “If she had a stalker here, she’d want to get away,” Natalie said. “Up there, she’d be surrounded by your family, far away from whoever was bothering her.”

  “But why wouldn’t she tell me about it?”

  “I don’t know. You could ask her parents.”

  He remembered his vague promise to his mother-in-law that he’d be by to visit soon. “I could drop by tomorrow. George will probably be at the office, but Lois should be around.”

  Natalie reached across the table, closing her slim fingers over his hand. Even the light touch sent fire pouring through his veins until his whole body seemed to burn.

  Her eyes darkened, reflecting whatever it was she saw in his gaze. She pulled her hand away, leaving him feeling bereft. She cleared her throat and looked away. “It could be a coincidence—even if someone was stalking her.”

  “Maybe,” he conceded. “But what if she was his first murder? What if he went to Gossamer Ridge to stalk her and kill her?”

  “How does Victor Logan figure in, then?” Natalie gathered the remains of their dinner, her movements restless.

  J.D. followed her into the kitchen. “I’m not sure. It could be that the alpha killer met Logan in Gossamer Ridge. Maybe he needed someone to help him get to Brenda without making her suspicious. We know Victor Logan was doing work for the trucking company. He could have paid Victor to get him into the building.”

  “And Victor liked the vicarious thrill of murder so much he offered to keep being his front man for free?” Natalie turned at the counter, her eyes widening at how close he stood. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, stoking the fire in his belly.

  “Maybe that’s exactly what happened.” He should move away from her, give her space to slip out between him and the counter, but he couldn’t convince his legs to work. He could only stand there, gazing down into her wide green eyes and struggling to focus on what they were talking about.

  She leaned against the counter, her fingers clutching the edges until her knuckles whitened. “Isn’t that how it works?” Her voice was raspy and low. “The beta killer acts as his front man. He’s probably someone nobody would suspect—”

  “Like a mechanic or a grad student,” J.D. agreed, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jeans to keep from touching her.

  “I wonder who he’s using here.”

  “If these murders are even connected,” J.D. reminded her. “You’ve never been sure Carrie’s murder was connected, and the Moss Crossing murder is problematic—”

  “But if the beta killer committed the Moss Crossing murder, it could explain the differences in the M.O.,” she pointed out. Her chin lifted with determination, but it was no match for the vulnerability in her eyes. “And maybe I’m wrong about Carrie’s murder. It does fit the profile of the other murders.”

  His hands came free of his pockets before he could stop himself, and he cradled her face between his hands. “I’m going to find out. It’s got to end here.”

  She leaned toward him until her forehead came to a rest against his chin. “I don’t know how you’ve survived all these years without knowing who killed your wife. It hasn’t even been a month since Carrie’s death, and I can’t find a moment’s peace.”

  She never would, he knew. Not until her sister’s murderer—or murderers—saw justice.

  For a moment, he was content to simply stand there, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders while she leaned into his body. There was something comforting about the closeness that lulled him into believing perhaps they could make it through the night without succumbing to temptation after all.

  And then her hands lifted to his waist, her fingers moving with slow determination against his rib cage. He drew his head back and found her gazing up at him with fire in her eyes, and he knew they didn’t have a chance in hell of getting out of this whole mess unscathed.

  She brushed her lips against the side of his neck, and he couldn’t swallow a groan of need. “Natalie, I don’t think this is strictly businesslike—”

  Her answer was to nip at the tendon at the base of his neck. He shuddered, struggling against the urge to lift her onto the kitchen counter and take her right there. He tried to curb his impulses, since Natalie seemed to have no intention of keeping him in check, but each touch of her mouth to his throat, his chest, the curve of his chin was like a hammer blow, chipping away at his control until it crumbled around his feet.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her onto the counter, inflamed by her low, feral growl. She pulled him to her, parting her thighs to welcome him between them. He couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting against the softness he found there, especially when that guttural noise escaped her throat again.

  She threaded her fingers in his hair and drew his face up, slanting her mouth over his with fierce hunger. Her tongue slid over his, hot and sweet, moving with a ferocious determination that he was powerless to resist. He’d never felt so out of control before, not even with Brenda, who had been a joyous, generous lover.

  Brenda, he thought.

  It was only when Natalie went utterly still that he realized he’d said the name aloud.

  She dropped her hands to her side slowly, staring at him with eyes as dark and pained as a bruise.

  “Natalie—”

  She wriggled off the counter and darted away. He turned to find her standing at the back window, staring at the bay.

  “Look—you don’t know what that meant—”

  “I’m really tired now, J.D. Long days at work. Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll clean up tomorrow morning—” She headed toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

  He followed her to her door, not out of any conscious thought but because his legs seemed incapable of doing anything else. She whirled around to face him, her expression implacable.

  “Don’t do this, J.D.”

  “I didn’t mistake you for my wife.”

  “Your late wife.”

  He flinched.

  “Exactly.” She caught his left hand in hers, running her thumb over the gold band he still wore. “You’re not ready to let go. And that’s okay. I just can’t get in the middle of that.”

  “I know she’s not coming back,” he said, even as he had to acknowledge what she was saying. He wasn’t ready to give Brenda up. He wouldn’t be until he found out who killed her. Nor could he know for sure, until the time came, that he’d be able to let her go once he finally found the truth.

  She let go of his hand. “Let’s just forget that happened, okay? Chalk it up to hormones or whatever you want to call it. I can’t do this. I could lie to myself and pretend there’s some hope that what happened here tonight would be more that just sex, but we both know it wouldn’t be.”

  He wasn’t sure that was true, but he had no grounds to argue with her. She deserved more than he could give her.

  He retreated until his back pressed against the wall behind him. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need. I started it. I ended it. No harm done.” She turned and disappeared into her room, leaving him alone in the silent
hallway.

  No harm done, he silently echoed.

  He definitely knew that wasn’t true.

  NATALIE HAD HOPED TO leave the house before J.D. awoke, but he came into the kitchen while she was polishing off a cup of yogurt. He had donned jeans and a T-shirt—his usual choice of attire—but his feet were bare and his short-cropped hair was mussed, as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

  She averted her eyes before her imagination took her back down the sultry path it had taken for most of the night, depriving her of all but a couple hours of restless sleep.

  How had she let herself get so entangled with a man like J. D. Cooper, a man who still wore his wedding ring twelve years after his wife’s death? A man who couldn’t kiss her without calling his dead wife’s name? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen trouble coming from a mile away. She’d known the second she turned to see him standing in that cemetery that he was dangerous, and nothing that had happened between them since had done anything to change her mind. So why had she been stupid enough to let herself get so caught up in his drama?

  “Headed into the station so early?

  “I’ve got to finish up some paperwork, so I thought I’d get an early start.”

  “If you’re doing it to avoid me, forget it. I’m going to go see if I can get my room at the motel back.” He scrubbed his hand over the top of his head, smoothing down his spiky bed-head. “But I don’t think you should stay here alone. Maybe you should go back to your parents’ place for a while.”

  The very thought of slinking back home to her parents again made her skin crawl. “I’ll figure out something.”

  He took a step toward her. Even though he didn’t make a move to touch her, she’d swear she could feel the heat of his body, as real as a touch, as it snaked around her, drawing her in. “I mean it, Natalie. You can’t stay here by yourself with someone sending you threats.”

  She struggled against her body’s insistent urge to close the distance remaining between them. “It was just flowers.”

  “And someone trying to gun you down in the motel parking lot,” he reminded her.

  She made herself look at him. “I’ll work it out.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m not something you have to worry about. I absolve you of all responsibility.”

  “You can’t absolve me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it won’t make me feel any less guilty if something happens to you.” His voice lowered a notch. “If something happens to you—”

  She closed her eyes, unable to bear the real pain she saw burning in his gaze. “I’ll go to my parents’ house,” she said, although she wasn’t sure she’d keep that promise. She’d used the excuse of the party planning to explain her return home to the family mansion the night before the fundraiser, but she didn’t have that excuse available now.

  Her father had been waiting for years for her to crawl home and admit she’d made a mistake taking the job with the sheriff’s department. He’d just love it if she had to admit she wasn’t capable of protecting herself without his help.

  “I’ve got to go see the Teagues this morning. I talked to Lois last night before I went to bed. Mike spent the night with his cousins again, so they’ll both be there alone if I go early enough. I’ll come back and get my things when I’m done there, and drop off the key at the station.” He dipped his head, forcing her to look at him again. “Promise me you’ll either find a place to stay or you’ll get someone you trust to stay here with you.”

  She sighed. “I promise.” Even if she decided against going to her parents’ house, maybe she could ask Travis to stay here at her place for a few days. He didn’t have any romantic designs on her, and he’d probably enjoy the novelty of playing bodyguard. He’d been complaining about the boredom of his patrol duty.

  “Good.”

  She threw away the half-eaten cup of yogurt and grabbed her purse from the counter. She had a toothbrush in her locker at the station, it would save her from having to stick around here to say goodbye.

  Cut it off fast and clean. Best way to get through it was to get it over with.

  “I may not be around when you drop off the key—I’m probably going to do some searching through the cold case archives in the annex. Just leave the key in my desk.”

  He frowned. “I’d rather give it directly to you—I don’t want to give anyone a chance to sneak it out and make a copy.”

  He was right, she knew, but it irritated her anyway. She didn’t want to have to see him again after she walked out the door. “Fine. If I’m not back, you can wait until I get back.” She headed for the door.

  When he followed her, well-bred politeness forced her to turn and bid him goodbye.

  “Why does this have to be the end of everything?” he asked. “I mean, I get that you don’t want things to get complicated, and I get why it’s a bad idea to stay here, but I can still help you find the man who killed your sister and maybe my wife.”

  “I don’t think there’s any way to work together without things getting complicated, J.D. And I just can’t deal with that. Let’s just end it now. Quick and clean.” The hurt in his eyes delivered a swift punch to her resolve, but she stood her ground. “Let me know if you have any trouble getting another room. I can pull some strings.”

  She turned and headed for her car, steeling herself to keep from turning back for one last look.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You look tired.” Lois Teague poured J.D. a cup of coffee in her sunny kitchen and set it on the table in front of him.

  “Didn’t sleep well.” He smiled his thanks as Lois brought her own cup of coffee to the table and sat across from him.

  “Are you seeing Natalie Becker?”

  J.D. choked on his coffee, the scalding liquid burning his throat. Lois calmly handed him a napkin. “Did Mike say something?” he asked in a strangled voice.

  Lois shot him a wry smile. “I believe his exact words were, ‘Dad was macking on some woman.’”

  J.D. sighed. “I’ve raised him well.”

  “You have, you know. He’s a good boy.”

  “Credit for that belongs to my parents.”

  “You’ve had more influence on him than you may think.” Lois reached across the table, laying her slender hand on J.D.’s arm. “And if you are seeing Natalie Becker, it’s okay with George and me. We never expected you to bury yourself with our daughter.”

  He winced at her words, wishing he could protest that he hadn’t been doing any such thing. But she knew better.

  Lois patted his arm. “Besides, I like Natalie. She’s a lonely soul, and maybe a little hard to get to know, but she treats people with kindness, folks her family doesn’t normally notice. Brenda would have liked her.”

  He felt an odd sense of pride in her words, somehow gladdened by the fact that Lois could see the same things in Natalie that had drawn him to her in the first place. “She’s good people,” he agreed. “But we’re not a couple.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’d like to see you happy again.”

  He squeezed her hand, both grateful for her support and burning with rage that their daughter’s death had stolen all the years of happiness that had once spread before them like jewels. “Thank you, Lois.”

  “But I don’t think you came here to talk about your love life,” Lois said after a brief but oddly comfortable silence. “You’re here because of Brenda’s murder, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “There are a few things I haven’t told you yet.”

  Her eyes darkened. “About Victor Logan?”

  He nodded. “We have good reason to believe he wasn’t acting alone. In fact, we’re pretty sure that Victor was only an accessory to Brenda’s murder in the first place.”

  Lois put one hand over her mouth, pain glittering in her eyes. “You mean—”

  “If Logan didn’t kill Brenda, who did?”

  The sound of George Teague’s voice behind him m
ade J.D.’s whole body jerk with surprise. He must have come in the front of the house without their hearing the door. “Hello, George.”

  Brenda’s father pulled out the chair next to J.D. and leaned forward, his gaze burning with fierce intensity. “Why didn’t you tell us about this?”

  “I only found out about it a few weeks ago.” J.D. outlined Alicia’s theory of the serial killer pair and explained the connection between Victor Logan, Marlon Dyson and the mystery man they knew only as Alex. “We think Alex may have found another partner and started killing again.”

  “Where?” Lois asked.

  “Right here,” George answered before J.D. could. “Carrie Becker. I was called to the restaurant that night—the county M.E. was out of town on a conference. I declared her dead.”

  “Then you saw the way the body was positioned,” J.D. murmured, regret raw in his voice. George knew enough about his daughter’s murder to have seen the similarities. What must he have been thinking all this time? Had he suspected?

  “I knew it looked the same. But Victor Logan was dead—so I told myself it couldn’t be connected.” George laid his head in his hands. “So the bastard’s killing down here now?”

  “I think he’s from here,” J.D. answered. “I think Brenda was his first murder, and he went up there specifically to kill her. Then I guess, once he had a taste of it, he just kept doing it. So he could get that feeling again and again.”

  George’s gaze whipped up. “Carrie looked a lot like Brenda. It would catch me by surprise, sometimes, if I ran into her on the street.” He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “This monster’s been killing our girl over and over, all these years?”

  “Why did she move to Gossamer Ridge instead of staying down here when I went overseas?” J.D. asked.

  George and Lois exchanged a quick look.

  “What is it?” J.D. pressed. “Was someone bothering her?”

  George met his gaze, cold rage crackling in his eyes. “Oh, yeah. There was.”

  “Who?”

  George’s lips thinned to an angry line. “Hamilton Gray.”

  “THAT PLACE IS CREEPY.” Mike Cooper’s cousin Derek pulled his bike up behind Mike, peering over his shoulder at the slumbering facade of Annabelle’s.